


As Certain Dark Things Are Loved

by fairywine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Original Characters - Freeform, Really!, Smut, arguments can be made if you know the history, crackship, except for the part where i bid farewell to my sense of shame long ago, of sorts, ridiculous self indulgence, seriously to a truly embarrassing extent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairywine/pseuds/fairywine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want to try what exactly?”</p><p>“Something new. In bed tonight."</p><p>Siberia, Karelia, and why it's always the quiet ones you need to look out for. (In the best of ways, that is.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Certain Dark Things Are Loved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MorriganFearn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorriganFearn/gifts).



> I'd apologize for the wait, but all things considered a delay of only four months is actually pretty fantastic by my standards (ESPECIALLY for smut). Anyway, you're my treasure, o scandalous plum-I hope this is somewhere approximating what you were hoping for. 
> 
> For those of you who are probably feeling pretty lost now, my end notes have some helpful links as to who and what these lovely folks are. This is total self indulgence but I had so much fun doing this I don't care. If some kind soul actually gets a kick out of this, well, so much the better.
> 
> Title is of course from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII: "I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul." (With all due respect to ChampagneSly of course) Enjoy~!

 “You want to try what exactly?”

Siberia looks at Karelia, not that he’s ever needed an excuse to do so. But this time there is actually reason fueling the action. It had been a pleasant if unremarkable evening spent at Karelia’s farmhouse. It is warm and cozy inside as it is chilly and rainy out, dinner had been delicious, and her Neanderthal brother is a safe couple hundred kilometers away-all elements of a good day in Siberia’s estimation.  Admittedly shy of _one_ particular part he is hoping rather hard for, but the night is still early.

“Something new.” Lifting her head from its chosen spot against his shoulder, Karelia meets his gaze. What Siberia sees there triggers some primal sense, a tiny spark of heat across his veins.  Her face, beautiful as always, cheeks gently pink and expression hopeful. But it is her eyes, made dark violet in the soft light of the room, which catch his attention. There’s an invitation there like warmed honey, sweet and sensual, and it takes an effort not to swallow. “In bed tonight.”

 _Ah_. Direct, but by now Siberia’s been made very aware of how straightforward Karelia can be when she wishes. This sensible line of thought is very distant and unimportant compared to how that early spark is quickly burning into a strong flame. It registers distantly, in between Siberia’s heart rate distinctly rising and his imagination helpfully supplying possibilities complete with visuals.

“Such as?” Siberia manages to say, trying to stay composed. If Karelia could keep so level about such things, he could too. The redness slowly but surely blooming up on his cheekbones would just have to be ignored somehow.

Karelia hesitates a moment, an action that cuts through Siberia’s pleasantly warm haze. What could she want that would warrant such a thing? He has known her for a very long time, and isn’t worried as much as puzzled. Surely Karelia is aware by now of how little he wouldn’t be willing to do for her. Something he’d dislike, perhaps, but that’s hard to fathom. Karelia’s sexual tastes aren’t strange-she isn’t Germany, for God’s sake.

“A…game. Of sorts.” Karelia’s tongue darts out for a second, wetting full lips, and Siberia isn’t so perplexed it doesn’t have the usual effect on him. Combined with her warm body pressing against him and the way she’s riled up his senses with a few words has the room feeling quite hotter than a couple minutes ago. “I’ve been thinking about it some time now, and it’s a little different but…I think we would both really like it.”

“How do you play?” Siberia asks a touch dryly, her answering laugh dissolving his uneasiness.

“It’s simple.” Another glance his way, and Karelia continues, “You don’t do anything unless I tell you to. And I’m not allowed to make you do anything you wouldn’t…enjoy.”

Obedience? Siberia examines the notion, discarding the fact it isn’t all that much of a stretch from how their relationship normally works because he does have his dignity to consider. Now he understands why Karelia might have been a little nervous bringing it up.  For Nations, the implications of submission carry a weight infinitely heavier than humans.  It is baring your throat, handing over the sword with which to cut it, and kneeling to make the blow easier all at once.

Trust is what makes the difference. Siberia does trust Karelia like no other. And there is the second part of her game. When she says nothing he wouldn’t enjoy, it’s a promise strong enough to carry the sky on its shoulders.

Beyond this is the idea Siberia really _wants_ to see what Karelia has planned. With a kind of urgency that’s rapidly getting difficult to keep under control, if he’s being perfectly honest. There’s something exciting about the concept of serving pleasure this way to Karelia, his woman lovely and loved beyond any words Siberia is capable of mustering.

Well, Siberia supposes that settles things.

“Yes, then. I’ll answer your challenge.” Karelia’s face lights up in a gratifying way, a sweetly pleasant surprise dancing across her features. Had she really thought he’d say no? “I’m in your hands.”

A tiny, wicked smile is Karelia’s only response before she gets to her feet and tugs at his arm. Following her lead, Siberia rises from the couch and lets her guide them to the bedroom. At the door Karelia halts abruptly, and for one awful second he fears she’s changed her mind.

“We haven’t started yet,” Karelia says, reading his face. “I just wanted to set the rules before we begin.” A little amused over his feeling of reassurance that she’s taking this so seriously, Siberia watches her hold up her hand. “First of course, is if I make an order you follow it, and I won’t order anything I think you wouldn’t like. To be safe, however, just say ‘green’ for being comfortable, ‘yellow’ if you’re uneasy, and ‘red’ if you want me to stop anything I’m doing at the time. If you want to end the session completely…” A brief pause while Karelia thinks it over. “Say ‘currency default’.”

“So I am allowed to talk?” Siberia asks, the idea striking him after he has had a moment to get past the reflexive feeling of revulsion that phrase inspires.

“I’d be very disappointed if you didn’t,” Karelia says, expression leaving his fingers twitching to turn the doorknob and get down to things. “I’m not planning on anything that would…impede speech…so you won’t need hand signals. I think that’s everything?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Siberia had been half joking when he said it, but Karelia tilts her head thoughtfully and looks like she’s mulling it over.

“I’m not really a ‘Mistress’ type so much.” Slanting her eyes up at him, Karelia’s voice gains a husky note that has Siberia taking a breath for control. “I’d prefer ‘Lady’, if you will.”

That works for Siberia. It really, _really_ does. “Lady, then.”

Karelia smiles at him, half-Mona Lisa and half-Venus, and opens her bedroom door.

Distracted as he is, Siberia hasn’t been so removed from his wits yet that he can’t see Karelia’s room looks the same as always. Tidy, gently feminine without being cloying, and full of homey charm. That’s fine by him. The familiar room carries with it a feeling of security and comfort extremely rare in Siberia’s life, a foundation for this moment that tells him he’ll be safe. Freed from any lingering worries, Siberia lets the nervous tension he hadn’t even been entirely aware of drain away.

During all this Karelia had been rummaging around in her nightstand, and approaches with a wine-red length of silk in her hand. Violet eyes trail the length of his body, slowly up and down, and Siberia doesn’t bother to hide his swallow now.

“Stand, so you’re facing away from the side of the bed,” Karelia says, tone honeyed and soft. There’s nothing of an edge in it, simply because there is no need for one. It is the voice of someone who has no doubts about their slightest whim being followed. Siberia does as directed, not missing the slow way slim fingers rub against the silk, as if memorizing the feel of it.

Karelia steps forward after a moment, closing the distance while _just_ keeping her body separate from his. Lifting up the red cloth, she winds it over Siberia’s eyes carefully and ties it firmly behind his head.

“Green?” Karelia murmurs, smoothing the silk out with a light touch.

“Green, Lady,” Siberia says, and even through the blindfold he can feel the presence of her smile.

“Wait in place until I say otherwise.”

A small infinity seems to pass, or at least that’s what it feels like to Siberia. Vision obscured, he forces his senses to the limit. A soft pop and the smell of burning phosphorus, followed by a handful of hisses suggests the lighting of candles. A heavy glass thud trailed by two light clinking ones. The click of the light switch next, and despite the silk Siberia can tell the room has gotten darker.  Steps, and behind him the bedcovers being pulled back.

The real torture begins with the tantalizing rustle of moving fabric, and clothes hitting the floor.  Siberia counts out, one, two, three thumps, and the thought that Karelia is likely standing in front of him completely bare is the first test of his ability to obey. Then the creak of a drawer sliding open, and after some rummaging sounds, shutting again. More rustling now, and Siberia has bought Karelia enough lingerie to know the sound of fine silk stockings sliding against naked skin. Tightening his jaw, he casts out for self-control.

Buttons clicking, and an electronic beep. It’s unexpected enough that it momentarily takes Siberia’s mind off staying in place. There’s silence, all the more keenly felt in the lack of noise. He wonders at what exactly Karelia did before a low rumble of music pulses out. It’s set to very low to the point he can’t make out lyrics, and Siberia has a feeling he wouldn’t recognize the song even at a louder volume.  Not the sort of thing he normally listens to, electronica, but there’s something _elemental_ about the ebb and flow of the notes, of the deep, sultry bass that feels perfect here and now. This is a song every living body has written in their blood. The form is new to him, but it trods an ancient path.

Siberia catches the padding of shoeless feet against the floor. If he strains his hearing Karelia’s breathing is just barely audible, and he knows she is right in front of him now.

A gentle exhale, and then-

“Your clothes. I want them off.”

Siberia’s fingers fumble at the buttons of his shirt, need leaving them trembling. Shrugging it off gracelessly, the garment falls to the ground.  Loosening his belt, Siberia unzips his jeans and kicks them away, where they are swiftly joined by his boxers.  He had been growing hard since Karelia pulled him into her room, but standing totally bared in front of her and completely in her control spikes his arousal up to an almost painful degree. Even Siberia’s usual bout of self-consciousness over his myriad collection of scars does little to dim it.

“Hmm…”

More purr than spoken word, it’s accompanied by the lightest brush of fingers trailing slowly down Siberia’s shoulder.  A taste of what he wants, but not nearly _enough_. Then that faint touch turns into a steady grip, and Siberia finds himself guided fully onto the bed. A distant part of him notes he had been right about the bedcovers being pulled back, but this is largely eclipsed by Karelia leaning over him. Siberia can feel her arms just above his shoulders, and her magnificent breasts press gently against his chest.  They’re covered, by a robe if the material brushing here and there along his torso and legs is any indication, and thinking about just what’s underneath _that_ is fit to drive him mad.

“ _Very_ nice.” Karelia presses a kiss just at the corner of Siberia’s mouth, then another at his cheekbone before nipping his earlobe. The groan this tears from him is so needyin any other circumstances Siberia would be mortified by having made it, but all he can think of now is _more, more, more_. “I wish you could see how you look now.”

“I’ll bring my camera next time, Lady,” Siberia groans out while Karelia’s mouth trails a hungry path down his neck, and he half-thinks her lips must be branding him by their sheer heat.  To his extreme disappointment his words cause Karelia to abruptly stop and pull away, and for one terrible second Siberia fears he stepped too far.

“Oh, that’s…” Karelia’s voice, already sultry in a way Siberia is smugly aware would shock anyone but him to hear coming from her, becomes laced through with a certain heady delight.  When she kisses him full on the mouth, tongue tracing his lips in unspoken command, Siberia knows she’s pleased. There’s the wet, warm thrust of her tongue against his, and Karelia claims Siberia’s moan before it can escape him.  “ _Wonderful_. You should be rewarded for that, I think.”

Siberia is ready to offer some suggestions on this front, or at least some desperate begging, but Karelia beats him to the punch.

“I want you to lie still. Hands on the bed.” The mattress shifts as Karelia moves back, and it takes a mighty effort not to reach blindly after her.  “The longer you _stay_ still, the longer I go on. Understood?”

“Explicitly, Lady,” Siberia says, inflecting as much of his willingness to do whatever Karelia wants if she’ll just touch him into the words as possible.

 The response to this is a soft sigh and nothing more. Siberia isn’t given more than a moment to let this register before Karelia’s teeth sink into the dip between his shoulder and his neck, straddling the line between dizzying pleasure and pain so perfectly his eyes roll back behind their cover. Slowly lessening the pressure of her bite, Karelia sucks at his skin in a way Siberia knows will leave a magnificent mark.

“ _Mine_.” Karelia’s voice is just above a murmur, but that husky, possessive tone wraps up Siberia’s world right now. Shaking hard as Siberia is he can feel the woman press a kiss to the spot before stroking it with one slender finger, an artist taking in the full measure of a splendid piece. “I want this to stay as long as it can. So the next Federation meeting we have, I can look at you any time and even covered up I’ll know my mark is there.”

One more kiss and Karelia lets her mouth guide the way down with a languid slowness that is its own special form of torture. Siberia’s fingers curl into the sheets in a desperate attempt to follow his Lady’s orders when that wicked, clever mouth presses over his nipples one by one. Karelia’s teasing is merciless as she bites and sucks away to the point where every shred of Siberia’s rapidly fading will is being dedicated not to rocking against her. Karelia is holding her body in such a way that his cock doesn’t get a single bit of relief, and if Siberia hasn’t lost his mind by now for the lack of attention he’s quickly reaching the point where he will. Karelia blows coolly on dampened flesh, and Siberia can’t summon the words to beg or even do much more than groan.

Hands that are strong for all they are dainty stroke Siberia’s stomach, his sides, thumbs running over the ridges of scars that he has never been able to let go. They glide over sweat-beaded skin, and each of his old wounds feels that touch a thousand times more sensitively. Siberia’s panting low and hard now, and some small part of him is surprised the sheets haven’t torn in his grip now.

Karelia’s breath ghosts over his aching erection, and how Siberia manages to not buck up after that he’ll never know. A low chuckle rings out, but before Siberia can feel an iota of affront she runs a finger up and down his cock testingly, as if getting the feel of him. If it means _finally_ getting some relief there Karelia is welcome to laugh all she likes.

“How good you’ve been, Dmitri.” That evil, wonderful hand circles him, firm but still too loose for his liking. Karelia’s thumb rubs almost absently over his head, spreading slick beads of pre-come over needy flesh. “Now, where to go from here…”

“Lady, _please_ ,” Siberia begs, shame having vanished over the horizon. “Don’t leave me like this-”

Karelia nuzzles him, and any ability to form words flees.

“Keep staying still,” Karelia purrs, grip tightening even as it moves down to the base. “And…don’t be quiet.”

Karelia’s mouth closes around Siberia’s cock, a warm, wet paradise, and following her second command is easy as her first is herculean. Even as she takes him in further, Karelia’s _immensely_ talented tongue traces the length of thick vein running underneath. Never has Siberia been so thankful for isolated farmhouses as he groans over and over, every muscle in his body straining against the instinct to rock up. Around his cock Karelia hums approvingly. Then she starts moving her hands in time with her mouth, in time with the pulsing music the part of Siberia still capable of coherent thought registers.

Slowly but steadily building up speed, Karelia works at him. Over the tip, down, then back up again in a rhythm that has Siberia mindlessly gasping. Each swipe of that glorious tongue over his cock is a kind of delicious agony, one that has his toes curling and his hands fisting the sheets like letting go will mean his death. One of Karelia’s hands drops from Siberia’s length to knead at the sack drawing closer to his body the greater the pleasure gets. Siberia’s heart is racing so hard it’s fit to burst out of his chest, and yet Karelia merely intensifies her efforts.

His body is a slave to her every whim, and the release practically within his grasp. Siberia has no idea how he’s managed to last as long as he has, given how on edge he’s been this whole time. All he knows now is he’s close, so _close_ -

“Lady, _Lady_ -” Siberia pants out, his body burning. “I’m-”

A vibration against his cock tells Siberia that Karelia is laughing around him. Then she takes him in _deep_ , sucking hard.  Lightning explodes behind Siberia’s eyes as he finds himself shoved over the edge he had previously been straining so hard for, and his orgasm fills all his senses with fire as he comes.  Pleasure, too much to comprehend, rushes over Siberia in a great wave as he lies bonelessly against the sheets, Karelia swallowing his release with a shudder of her throat. Lying still is an easy task now, as it feels every cell in his body has been complete drained of strength. The blindfold probably isn’t needed anymore either. He’s fairly certain he’s lost his vision by this point.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the music accompanied by heavy breathing. The mattress squeaks with a shift of sudden movement, and with a smooth pull Siberia is divested of his blindfold. It happens he was wrong about losing his sight, and how very glad he is for it. Soft candlelight is their only illumination, and in its cast Karelia kneels on the bed, eyes a smoky amethyst and lips curved in a small smile.  Licking her fingers clean as if she is enjoying a delicacy and not Siberia’s spend, Karelia’s gaze doesn’t leave him for an instant.  For all her slinky black silk robe hides her body from view, Karelia is simply so seductive looking Siberia isn’t surprised to feel himself starting to recover.

Karelia shifts off the bed, and Siberia is still too winded to do more than watch the lush curve of her bottom sway back and forth as she goes to her side table. There’s a bottle of what looks like red wine, though the candlelight is too dim for Siberia to make out much more than that, and two glasses. Pouring herself one after pulling out the cork, Karelia casts him an appraising look over her shoulder.

“Thirsty?” There’s more than a little of that honeyed tone to the words, one Siberia has most definitely learned indicates pleasant things to come. “I know I am.”

“Almost dying does that to you, Lady,” Siberia says, and Karelia’s shoulders shake a little in contained amusement as the sound of a second glass being poured reaches his ears. “Not that it wasn’t infinitely worth it.”

“I know.” Karelia sits back down on the bed and passes Siberia his glass, which he downs gratefully. It’s good-quite good-as sinfully dark, silky, and smooth as the cloth that had been used to blind him. Siberia wonders a little idly where it’s from, because it’s certainly not like any French or Italian red he knows. “Flattery, however, isn’t going to lessen what’s expected of you.”

Siberia knows exactly what she’s getting at, but there’s a certain kind of fun in being made to heel.  They lock glances for a moment, before Karelia sets down her empty glass on the nightstand with a very definitive sort of clink.

“I hope you aren’t taking advantage of my generosity, my proud lordling.” Karelia straddles Siberia’s hips, stocking clad thighs brushing against him.  The fact that robe of hers remains as concealing as ever despite the motion is frustrating to say the least.

“Merely waiting for your command, Lady.” Siberia knows very well he’s no good at looking innocent-quite the opposite-or submissive, but he gives it his best shot. Of course Karelia sees this for the provocation it is, and snorts while unfortunately pulling away from where she’s pinned him to kneel on the bed.

“If it’s a command you’re seeking, I have them aplenty.” One pale hand drifts to where her robe is belted, and if Siberia had any doubts about his imminent recovery they’re definitely gone now. He’s not ready for another go quite yet, but it’s within reach.  Much like the bow Karelia is now running her fingers over slowly, taunting Siberia with its mere existence. “But maybe I’ll leave the robe on for them…”

Karelia is bluffing, she has to be. Nonetheless, Siberia’s attention-and obedience-has most swiftly come under her total control.

“Lady, I’m begging you not to punish me so cruelly.”

“Oh?” Karelia’s full lips, so enticingly swollen from kisses, tilt into a smile that wouldn’t be out of place on a sphinx.  “I’m not really feeling begged to.”

“ _Please_.” Siberia’s not afraid to resort to any level of desperate pleading if needed. Even if his instincts aren’t right about something truly glorious waiting under that robe, the thought of not being able to touch Karelia’s soft skin is torture of an unendurable order. Perhaps Siberia oversteps the rules of their little game when he dares to bow and kiss the hem of Karelia’s robe, but he guesses it isn’t unwelcomed. Not when Karelia’s breath hitches gently as he moves up, legs shifting to reveal a tantalizing sliver of stocking clad leg.

Karelia is wonderfully warm beneath the black silk, and Siberia can feel her muscles trembling gently under her skin. This close he can detect a subtle yet alluring scent, as if Karelia had touched perfume oil here and there to herself, and that is another appealing thought of many. With the natural smell of Karelia’s cool lakes and pure forests she always carries, and the animalistic musk of arousal impossible to miss now, it’s a heady mixture Siberia feels almost drunk on. 

Strong, slim fingers wind through Siberia’s black hair, not quite holding his head in place. Like magic, Karelia finds the hidden knots of tension that he accumulates with nearly the same ease as scars and grey hairs, and kneads into them.  After the initial resistance of stiff muscles gives way the pressure feels amazing, and it takes an effort for Siberia not to purr into Karelia’s touch like a cat. Karelia makes a noise halfway between a hum and a laugh, and kisses the top of his head.

“Have I told you how much I enjoy your sense of initiative, Dmitri?” Karelia caresses Siberia’s cheekbone with her thumb and he finds himself giving up all pretense of resistance. Pillowing his head against the smooth flesh of her thigh, Siberia drinks in that touch like a tree taking in sunshine.

“And I your exceptional ability to motivate, Lady?”

Siberia had meant to tease with these words, but Karelia’s face shifts swiftly from amusement to someone mulling over some very intriguing ideas. _Intriguing_ , a word Siberia is rapidly growing very fond of.  There’s a promise to it in this context that bodes good things for his immediate future. Good, finally-getting-that-godforsaken-robe-off, Karelia-related things.

“Motivation…I’d like to test that.” Karelia smiles down at him, sweet as a really wonderful sin. “Tell me, how badly do you want the robe off?”

“More than anything,” Siberia says, what little eloquence he had remaining this evening quickly deserting him. At least the genuine sincerity his words carry comes clearly through, as Karelia’s face warms with approval.

“You may remove it, then.” There’s a catch here, there must be. Siberia’s been around more than long enough to sense that sort of thing in a too-generous offer. “But no using your hands.”

“As you wish, Lady,” Siberia replies with the appropriate level of reverence. His mind is racing though, because for all Karelia has presented this challenge, there must be a way she intends for him to go about it. For one, Siberia is positive she wants the robe off nearly as much as he does.

Siberia’s eyes drift across Karelia’s lovely frame, casting about for the best solution. His eyes settle at where her robe is belted, and he abruptly realizes the way she has it tied means one good pull should release the whole thing with ease. Which just leaves the whole ‘no hands’ part of her order…

From the angle Siberia’s head is already at it isn’t too difficult to get at just the right position. With careful effort, Siberia grips the end of the belt in his teeth and tugs firmly. The taste of silk on his tongue is well worth it, for the belt becomes completely undone and Karelia’s robe slips off her shoulders with a whisper of fabric to pool around her legs.

When Siberia sees just what Karelia had been hiding under that robe, he forgets to breathe, to think, to do anything except stare in stupefying awe. There are many weaknesses Siberia has when it comes to Karelia, weaknesses she knows well and has chosen to target with all the mercilessness and pinpoint accuracy of a guided missile strike.

A masterpiece of midnight dark lace, shot through with golden embroidery reveals itself akin to a vision straight from paradise.  The corset hugs Karelia’s lush curves like a second skin, and there’s something mesmerizing about the contrast of pale flesh against navy fabric. That she’s chosen to pair the garment with a thong of the same luxurious material is another unexpected yet very welcome pleasure for Siberia.

It’s only when Karelia laughs softly and reaches out with two slim fingers to nudge his mouth shut that it even dawns on Siberia that he’s been staring. Those skilled fingers follow by skimming his jaw line and up, claiming the darkening flush growing there as their own conquest. Futilely, Siberia makes an effort to collect himself, but between his own body’s need and such an erotically garbed Karelia it’s more or less impossible.

“Well, that was certainly a flattering reaction,” Karelia notes, her hand drifting from Siberia’s face to the base of his neck. Nimble fingers twine themselves into the loops of his braid, possessive for all the gentleness of her hold.  Then she tugs, not hard but firmly enough to make her point. “But I’m after more than just that. I’d be very disappointedto think you so ungrateful considering all I’ve done.”

“Never, Lady.”  Siberia presses his face into the sweet curve where Karelia’s neck and shoulder meet in a fit of daring, drinks in the scent of woman and the land’s eternal harvest.  Bold, given their little game, but her answering sigh is all approval as is the rewarding stroke of her hand against his hair. “I just have one question first.”

“Mm?”

Siberia lifts his hands to her sides, tracing the shape of her elegantly clad body from ribs down to those feminine hips that have kept him silently enthralled for centuries.  It really is an exquisite set of garments, and being a man who knows his high end lingerie houses _very_ well Siberia knows a large purchase from one company in particular is in his immediate future. But it is the beautiful woman wearing it who makes it shine, not the other way around. Siberia stops his descent where dark lace flares out at the very edge of the corset, and traces over embroidery warmed through by body heat.

“Will this be on…?” Siberia lifts a brow slightly, reveling in Karelia’s expression of playing along amusement, “…or off?”

“ _That_ you have to earn, Dmitri,” Karelia says, and seals her words with a kiss.  Siberia’s not entirely sure himself if he’s feeling spurred by her conditions or frustrated, but either way the hot slant of her mouth against his wipes all thoughts away time and again. When it comes to matters of skin, Karelia is undoubtedly the most formidable conqueror he knows.  “But you’re allowed to touch as long as everything stays on.”

Siberia can work with that, and happily so. Greedy with his newfound liberty he pulls Karelia close, tongue fighting for dominance against hers. His Lady wins, but that is a battle and this is a war, and Siberia knows how to turn a retreat around to a victory.  Among these strategies is letting your opponent think they have the upper hand, only to strike at their weak spots in a concentrated offensive. And Siberia’s knowledge of _those_ as pertains to Karelia is intimate indeed.

Her collarbone, for a start. There’s one point in particular where even a small amount of pressure against that tender skin can make Karelia go completely pliant.  When Siberia sucks at it, applying the contrasting bite of his teeth slightly, he feels the needy shudder even her role as mistress can’t keep contained. Karelia’s nails dig into his back, and Siberia relishes the sting of it as a triumph he’s only begun to earn.

There’s Karelia’s gorgeous breasts to attend to, after all.  The exquisite femininity of Karelia’s body has held sway over Siberia for so long it is hard to remember a time before shapely hips and full, heavy breasts weren’t what sprung to mind when considering what he found attractive in a woman.  Tastes and fashions changed (and God he had been more than happy to bid farewell to the inexplicable popularity of boyish figures that had plagued the 20’s and 30’s), but those lush curves never failed to make Siberia _want_. To need, for all he told himself time and again he shouldn’t, because even if someone as lovely as Karelia could muster interest in the likes of him Russia would never allow it, because Karelia deserved so much more than scars and labor camps and half a life for her whole one.

And yet here they are, the two of them, Siberia muses as his hands move to cup her breasts.  Siberia kneads them gently, the weight of Karelia’s chest wonderfully soft and supple in his grasp even as he can feel her heart start to pound. Nuzzling his face in the sweet valley of her cleavage is an indulgence Siberia feels he’s earned, and he’s remains there even when Karelia’s small laugh sends those mounds jiggling in a very pleasant way.

“I hope you aren’t planning on staying there all night,” Karelia says, stroking his braid slowly, as if she’s substituting something rather more interesting in her mind. “I promise, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“With such a warm refuge from the world I hope you would not begrudge me it, Lady,” Siberia says, then cuts off whatever retort possibly awaiting him by sucking at one nipple through the fabric of her corset. Karelia’s breasts are so sensitive even the barrier of cloth doesn’t do much to halt her reaction. That sweet noise she makes, half-moan and half-purr, is all the encouragement he needs and then some.

While Karelia is distracted by the attention her breast is receiving, Siberia frees one hand to skim the length of her spine before settling on her perfectly curved bottom.  It would take more inner fortitude than he possesses resist squeezing, and Karelia has always turned any such quality he’s had to nothingness. But as _very_ enjoyable as such wonderfully curved flesh against his palm is, right now Siberia is a man on a mission.

His Lady’s order might have been to leave her lingerie on, but she never mentioned anything about shifting its placement.  With a silent moment of appreciation for obeying the letter of the law over the spirit, Siberia slips his hand in one smooth motion from Karelia’s backside to between her legs. The lacy cloth still cover her does nothing to hide right there. Nor, as Siberia finds with an idle motion of fingers against fabric, how dampened through they have become.

A noise that is all need escapes Karelia’s mouth at his touch, and Siberia’s not even sure she meant him to hear it. No matter.  Game aside, his purpose now is to see her to satisfaction. But even as he strokes at Karelia through her exquisite underwear, she completely dominates the hungry kiss she draws him into. As little complaint Siberia actually has about this turn of affairs, it is clear to him now is the time to step up his efforts.

Breaking away with considerable reluctance, Siberia indulges in a nip of Karelia’s full bottom lip before resting her against the headboard and a generous arrangement of pillows. Flushed as Karelia’s face has become, there’s still a distinct note of bemusement to be found there with his actions.

“Willful as always,” Karelia says, brushing Siberia’s head with a palm he can’t help but relax into.

“Motivated,” Siberia counters, grinning just a little. Far from his most eloquent moment, but he knows well how to make his argument much more compelling. Slipping his hand to rest right against Karelia’s most intimate place, Siberia finds her already so heated and ready it is actually startling. Not that this development is a bad thing. Very much the opposite, as it were.

Siberia starts with motions of his fingers, because it is simply in his nature to assess before striking more powerfully, and because Karelia is a joy to behold when she is like this. No matter how many times he has seen that flush spread across Karelia’s pale skin, or her lips wantonly part as self control slips away, he never tires of it.

Touching Karelia now because a masterful exercise in a slow, steady burn of pleasure. The hand that had rested so gently upon his head earlier now grips his wrist in an unspoken but clear command.  One Siberia fully intends to obey, but following his own plan. Karelia’s needy moan as she rocks against him certainly doesn’t speak of dissent. Wet and tight around the finger he gently pushes inside her, her response to the second that joins it is a choking sort of gasp that says _more, more_.

Settling into a rhythm just fast enough to put Karelia on edge without quite getting further, Siberia indulges in teasing her for a few stretched out moments. Any complain his Lady might have had dies when he rubs his thumb against her clit. Working in a steady rotation against the sensitive nub results in her nails digging into his scalp needily. Siberia doesn’t mind, both because it is a flattering reaction on her end and because it means she clearly is too aroused to see his next move coming.

Siberia can feel the weight of Karelia’s put upon expression without even needing to look when he pulls away his hand. His Lady isn’t given any time in which to voice her displeasure, though, or do much more then cry out and clutch at him when his mouth and tongue take up where hand and fingers left off. There’s the taste of Karelia, musky and elemental all at once. The slick, melting heat enough to cast a haze over both their minds, and the quiver of her thigh muscles on either side of his head.

It is the sort of thing Siberia doesn’t quite have the nerve to vocalize around even Karelia, much less anyone else, but he really enjoys going down on her. Had he been of a more poetic inclination and a less reserved one, he would speak of rose pink of her folds. How delicately furled they are, beautifully so, framed by palest blonde curls like a work of art. But Siberia can forgive his own reticence when he knows actions are so much more effective than words.

To call this path a familiar one would be doing it a disservice, in Siberia’s mind. _Familiar_ implies a lack of wonder, repetition, and that is not the case here. Siberia licks into Karelia, alternating wide, slow stripes of his tongue with darting, precise ones, feels her quiver what seems like _everywhere_.  The way she grows ever slicker, with even more of that salty-sweet taste that’s pure Karelia and all his. There still is the awe that has never faded inside him since the first time he did this for Karelia, and remains just as heady as Siberia delves into her like so many times since.

Karelia’s wanton sighs ring in Siberia’s ears as much as the pulsing of her blood he can feel nearly as keenly as his own.  Moreso when her lovely legs lock around his neck and pull him in ever closer.  A sign she’s getting close, and Siberia allows himself a smug smile before returning to his task. It is a little like playing a much loved piece of music, knowing when and where to touch, and for how long, and the result being no less beautiful for understanding of the way. Brushing high up on her thighs here and there, applying pressure to that one spot inside Karelia that never fails to leave her panting in need.

“ _Dmitri_ ,” Karelia moans, dark and desperate, and the sound of it goes straight to Siberia’s already aching cock. His name on her lips has never failed to make him her willing slave, and it cuts through his restraint like a sword through snow. Enough playing around-it is time to see this to the end.

With a gentle shifting of Siberia’s shoulders he’s able to return his hand to the cleft they had been so happily occupied with earlier. Two, then three fingers slide easily into Karelia now with how wet she is, her shapely hips rocking in response. Her inner walls grip at the digits hungrily, a primal demand for more. Siberia blows gently at Karelia’s clit, the sensitive organ twitching in response even to this light stimulus, than sucks at it hard.

It’s rare for Karelia to be loud in bed, but she is so wound up by this point she actually cries out. His Lady’s whole body shudders as orgasm rushes through her. Siberia is grateful that this causes the grip her legs have on his neck to slacken. Much as he loves servicing Karelia, the sole downside is how much more difficult to see her clearly when she comes.  And the sight of her now, skin flushed so beautifully and chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath is something Siberia would be very sad to miss out on.

Karelia’s gaze settles on him. She looks supremely contented with the world right now, like a queen or a cat, and gestures lazily for Siberia to come closer.

“Kiss me,” Karelia says, as if she ever has to ask such a thing of him. Mindful of her state, the press of his lips against hers is no less ardent for its lack of urgency. It’s a slow, simmering sort of kiss, a _savoring_ sort of one, and Karelia licks her own release off his mouth with the little sigh of someone enjoying a supremely fine bite of food.

They lay together for a moment, just embracing. For all Siberia’s still feeling his own need so keenly he does his best to rein it in. His Lady will be ready when she’s ready, and if this evening keeps holding to pattern it will be worth any wait. Then Karelia stretches languidly, exhaling in a way that makes her chest rise and fall in a delightful manner.

“You performed splendidly,” Karelia says, slanting a gaze at him beneath coy lashes. “I’m finding myself still quite heated.”

“Perhaps undressing would help, my Lady,” Siberia somehow manages to respond with a straight face.

“Hm…” Karelia says, the very image of thoughtful contemplation. The gleam in her violet eyes only somewhat diffuses the vision. “An excellent suggestion, but I’m still finding myself a bit fatigued.”

Shrugging out of Siberia’s arms, Karelia sits up with her back to him. Looking over to where he still lays reclining, she gives him one of those honey and smoke smiles fit to set the blood thrumming at any distance. Needless to say, the complete conquest of Siberia’s attention is the work of a second.

“Undress me,” Karelia drawls, and if she goes on with that husky tone much longer Siberia is certain his heart and any number of other organs won’t be able to handle the strain.

“I am at your command, Lady,” Siberia says, and it is the honest truth. Getting up, he brushes Karelia’s pale blonde curls over her shoulders. Her back is open before him, flawless skin still mostly covered by her corset. For a moment Siberia forgets how to breathe. It takes longer than that to bring hands shaking with need under control.

Somehow Siberia wrangles his body back in line, after a small eternity that reality amounts to a heartbeat’s time. He rests his hands lightly at the uppermost latch of Karelia’s garment, taking in the gentle motion of her breathing. Then, with no more than the smallest whisper of sound, he undoes it.

One fastener after another falls before Siberia’s capable hands, his reward is a vision of still flushed skin he couldn’t stop himself from kissing for all the wealth of his lands. When the last latch slips open, Karelia sighs in the way of all women upon freeing their breasts from constriction. The sound of it thrusts right into his soul.

Allowing himself one more worshipful brush of lips against Karelia’s slender neck, Siberia loosens the attached ties of the basque holding up the tops of her silk stockings. Sliding the garment off, Siberia can tell with touch alone that it is of the finest quality. Yet the luxurious spell of lace and gold is nothing at all against her wonder.

Karelia is so beautiful-the most beautiful woman Siberia has seen over the course of his long life. It is not something he has ever forgotten or even could. But moments like this happen where how impossibly _lovely_ she is hits him like a force of nature, leaving nothing but the wreck of his senses in its wake.

“Dmitri?”

That breaks that haze sweeping over Siberia. Especially since Karelia had dropped the mistress tone from her voice.

“My apologies.” Sibera knows he is flushing hard enough even the golden duskiness of his skin can’t conceal it. “I have no defenses against how beautiful you are. I hope you’ll forgive me for being overcome.”

Karelia’s mouth twitches as if torn between amusement and genuine flattery, but her eyes soften when she turns to cup Siberia’s face with her hand.

“I hope you aren’t suggesting I leave the stockings and thong on.”

“Definitely not,” Siberia says quickly. “Your orders are to be obeyed, Lady.”

Which only leaves Siberia with one great decision-which to remove first.

Not an easy task by any measure, faced with two such wonderful choices. Either way he isn’t at the right angle, and so Siberia shifts around to seat himself before Karelia, petitioner before goddess. It’s even harder to focus with Karelia’s breasts so enticingly bared, but in the interest of moving on Siberia somehow summons the willpower to tear his eyes away from their appreciative staring.

Karelia settles herself comfortably against the pillows, permission to go forward as he likes implicit in the action. Well, far be it from Siberia to disappoint her expectations. Fortunately the spot he chose places him perfectly to take action. Gently grasping Karelia’s slim ankle, Siberia lifts her foot just high enough to kiss.

Karelia shivers softly, and Siberia doesn’t miss the way her nipples go stiff when he moves up to her ankle. She is so wonderfully warm through the silk stockings, and the strain of separation by such a flimsy barrier is fit to make his mind spin. When Siberia finally reaches the very top of the stocking he doesn’t know how his hands keep from shaking in sheer need. Curling his fingers under the elastic band to feel the first sensation of delicate, heated skin is almost too much for him to stand.

Siberia pulls the stocking off, and the manner in which Karelia’s pupils dilate is as rewarding as the bare expanse of leg unveiled to him. When he moves his hands to Karelia’s other leg, he can feel her thigh muscles shiver with a kind of sweet tension. Siberia doesn’t even try to stamp down the urge to tease her, peeling the remaining stocking off as if he has all the time in the world.

“Dmitri,” Karelia says very sweetly, “If you don’t stop playing around and get me naked, I hope you are prepared to live with the consequences.”

“Whatever my Lady wishes of me will be done.”

Siberia’s tone is all perfect compliance, and completely at odds with the tiny grin he sports. A grin that pairs beautifully with the smirk on Karelia’s face right now. Consequences-Siberia is looking forward to them in whatever form she chooses. Nonetheless Siberia _heartily_ agrees with Karelia’s point about her state of dress. Settling his hands just above her hips, Siberia can’t conceal their trembling now nor would he consider trying.

No words pass between them, beyond as they are now the need for such things. Karelia lifts her hips up enough for Siberia to pull her panties off. Sticky as they are from earlier, the garment resists the separation for a moment before giving way to the treasure concealed beneath. Siberia tosses them aside with less control than he normally would have shown, but he’s far past caring by this point.

There’s no form of expression that can do justice to the vision before him. Karelia utterly bared, flushed by candlelight and her hair spread out in pale waves across the pillows. If Siberia hadn’t already been on his knees he would have fallen to them in worshipful reverence.

Then Karelia surges up suddenly to pull him into a kiss fit to ignite his soul, and Siberia is reminds that there are far better things in life than distant veneration. The hungry slide of Karelia’s tongue along his own, for one, and the way her needy moan vibrates right through him when he grips her backside and squeezes. Siberia’s whole body exists as nothing more than a means to register the sensations of Karelia, the warm weight of her breasts pressing against him, the exquisite softness of her skin, the pure scent of her mixed with arousal.  Karelia’s kisses Siberia like she is branding him, leaving a claim of possession and marking everything he is as forever hers. Each press of her lips transforms Siberia, phoenix-like, consumed and reborn and consumed once more in an endlessly lustful cycle.

Karelia places her knee just so, shifts her weight in precisely the right way, and in an instant Siberia finds himself flat on his back. Strong thighs hold him in place, and his Lady’s satisfied gaze upon him is nothing less than a victor choosing her favorite of the spoils.

“Remember those consequences I mentioned earlier?” Karelia murmurs, fingers trailing idly down Siberia’s torso.

“Explicitly,” Siberia groans out, hard member achingly close to when he most wanted it to be. “Though I was hoping I wouldn’t die before getting to enjoy them.”

Karelia merely chuckles low in her throat, reaching down to lightly stroke at him with her free hand. In the privacy of the bedroom Siberia is fully willing to own up to the sheer desperation of the noise this draws from him. It doesn’t lessen the sweet torment of it all, or the feeling his heart is going to give out any minute now.

“I’m impressed you held out this long,” Karelia muses. “Be proud.”

“I’d rather be-” Siberia starts, only to choke on his own tongue when Karelia grinds-no, _glides_ her wet slit against his cock fit to make every nerve in his body scream while just avoiding even the tiniest bit of relief. Strong hands pin his shoulders to the bed, denying him the least mobility, and Siberia’s not sure if that or the look on Karelia’s face is the more agonizing burden to bear. It is pure innocence, total oblivion to why Siberia is so worked up. Or rather, it would be if it hadn’t been for the wicked light in Karelia’s eyes. Siberia isn’t sure whether he is more astounded she had such evil depths to her, or that he would both love and hate it at once with a fiery passion.

“Mm? Rather be what?” Karelia tilts her head, the epitome of sweet-natured confusion. She keeps at that slick, heated rocking all the while, going not even a fraction faster. Siberia doesn’t know how it is possible to lose one’s mind and yet be keenly, _painfully_ aware of reality, but that is just the latest in surprising discoveries tonight. She moves minutely faster, giving a soft, shuddering breath of pleasure that makes Siberia want to howl in frustration. “Did you want me to guess?”

“ _Lady_ ,” Siberia begs raggedly. “Anything you want, anything, just don’t keep denying me like this!”

“Ah… _anything_?” Karelia pauses in her movement while pressing harder against him. Siberia grinds his jaw, because being held down so firmly it is the only means of resilience left to him, however pitiful.

Siberia nods, no longer sure he can trust himself to speak clearly. Karelia’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, and her eyes glitter darkly. Then she leans down, mouth right by his ear, and Siberia is fairly certain he is about to have a heart attack.

“Say my name,” Karelia murmurs, low and thick. She pulls back and gazes down at him, and there is no smoke to be seen there now. Only fire.

“Kare-”

Karelia rakes her nails down his chest, just hard enough to make her point.

“In _my_ language.” One slim finger traces over the strip of reddened skin, admiring the artistry of it. “I hope you don’t need my help remembering.”

Siberia doesn’t. Some things are seared onto the heart.

“ _Karjala_.”

“Well done,” Karelia says with just the slightest curl of a smile. She kisses him once, just to the side of his mouth before Siberia even has a chance to turn his head, and shifts back.

Time nearly halts-Siberia thinks he can count it between his heartbeats-as Karelia lifts herself right above him. She holds her slit open with two fingers, and slowly, so _very_ slowly, takes Siberia’s aching length inside bit by bit. Siberia is praying for strength by the time she is halfway there, when suddenly Karelia throws her leisurely pace to the wind and bears down on him with one firm drop of her hips. Siberia somehow doesn’t howl, but his vision blurs for a second and he is fairly certain he is on the precipice of an aneurysm.

For what Siberia is feeling now, he would go through all that and a thousand times more. Karelia is so perfectly snug around him, so hot and slick, holding him with all she’s got.   It is perfect-they are perfect, together.

“Dmitri,” Karelia says, and Siberia can hear the mistress lilt her voice has carried all evening seeping away. It is understandable. He too is much too overcome now to keep up any sort of act.  Boldly, thinking no longer of the game but instead here and now, Siberia cups her cheek with gentle fingers. Karelia looks surprised for a moment, followed by her eyes softening covering his hand with her own.

From there it is too easy to pull Karelia into a kiss, so he does. There is no sense of performance in the gesture for both of them, just pure heat and animal desperation. The noise Siberia makes when Karelia bites down on his lip only to pull away is nothing short of feral, for one.

“Don’t growl,” Karelia says, the hunger in her eyes equally matched by that in her tone. When she rolls her hips, firm and much more slowly than Siberia wants, he does so anyway. Karelia shakes her head at him once, and too late he realizes the error of his ways when she grips his hands in hers to effectively lock them down. In other circumstances Siberia could have managed to overpower her for as fit as Karelia is, but by this point he is in no state to do so. Not when she starts speeding up her pace, and he feels both ready to fall to pieces and so wound up he could collapse in on himself.  “It’s not gentlemanly.”

That almost earns Karelia a second growl, since Siberia can’t gather his mental facilities enough to point out she is entirely to blame for any animalistic behavior on his part. But then Karelia shimmies in a way that makes Siberia’s eyes nearly roll back in his head, and even such a primal response proves elusive. Rendered near mindless by her actions, he moves to grab at her only to be held in place as firmly as ever by Karelia’s unmoving grip.

The up and down motion of Karelia’s shapely hips as she rides Siberia is a masterpiece of walking the fine line between building pleasure and actually achieving any sort of satisfaction. Cheeks flushed and skin beading with sweat, Karelia could easily put any lust goddess to shame. As she has for the entirety of the evening his Lady maintains total control, and it is as maddening as it is arousing. Siberia is not sure how much longer he is capable of holding out by now.

Karelia moans quite shamelessly, writhing in a way that leaves her inner walls clutching at him even tighter. The motion makes her breasts bounce in a way Siberia finds extremely enthralling, if not a distant second to how incredibly fantastic she feels around him, the velvety-slick snugness of her.

“I was hoping you would like this sort of play, but so much…?” Karelia smiles down, and there’s nothing sweet in it now, just pure wickedness. Siberia lets it go for the moment, mainly because he is in no sort of position to offer any defense but also because that unrelenting grip on his hands is starting to lessen. “You’re so hard, I can really feel you- _ohh_ …”

Evidently for all of Karelia’s calculated teasing, she had neglected to take her own body’s reactions into account. The flutter of thick lashes, the unconscious parting of her lips, and most tellingly, the way Karelia is clenching tightly around him tells Siberia she is as close to release as him now. It is the opportunity he has been waiting for, and Siberia seizes it without hesitation.

Slipping his hands free from where Karelia had held them so tenaciously, Siberia guides them down the span of her waist to settle firmly on her perfectly curved bottom. Karelia’s mouth shifts as if she is about to say something, but Siberia thrusts up into her to finally meet those motions of her hips like he has been aching to and she pants needily instead.

“Motivated,” Siberia manages to get out, and behind the haze of arousal he can see the amusement in Karelia’s eyes. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close, and he supposes that counts as close enough to an order in the circumstances.  And even if it isn’t Siberia is more than happy to have his penance carry over into the next time they do this.

There are no words but the language of bodies now. Just skin against skin, frantic grasping driven by sheer need. Siberia tastes sweat, and he is not sure if it is Karelia’s or his own. Karelia moans breathily by his ear, nails biting into his shoulders as her body goes taunt around him. Dimly, at the very edge of his awareness, Siberia thinks he catches the faint silky murmur of his name just before Karelia slackens, shuddering as orgasm washes over her. Siberia doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, not when his world goes supernova and sublime in an instant.  Utterly drained and still seeing specks of white flashing through his field of vision, Siberia uses the last shred of strength he has to pull Karelia to him when she slips off to his side.

They lay like that for a while, too winded to do much more than stay with limbs tangled together. The world seems pretty much perfect, as Siberia runs his fingers through Karelia’s wayward curls, and her contented little sigh winds through the air like music.

“So,” Karelia murmurs while she shifts to settle more comfortably against him, “I think that went well.”

Even as Siberia wraps his arms around Karelia, he can’t contain the slight snort this statement elicits. “You’re being much too modest. You blew me away-” Just a millisecond after the words leave his mouth Siberia realizes he could have phrased that better. Even if he hadn’t, the way Karelia is giggling now would have been a dead giveaway. “Ahem. I _meant_ this went far beyond any expectation I had.”

It takes a minute for Karelia to get her laughter under control, but the gentle, affectionate kiss she presses to the corner of Siberia’s mouth does away with any affront he might have felt.

“Would you be alright with doing this again?”

The fact Karelia even feels the need to ask is so absurd it would be well within his rights for Siberia to take his turn to laugh. Such a thing isn’t really his style, though, and instead he presents his most serious face while pausing for _just_ the right amount of time.

“That depends on how you feel about creative collaborations,” Siberia says, deeply enjoying the thoughtful smile Karelia is sporting. “I feel it would be ungracious of me to leave everything to you.”

“Well, you know how much I love cultural exchanging,” Karelia says with violet eyes at their most dewy and virtuous. It’s completely at odds with the intent way her arms pull him skin-close, and the trailing press of her lips to his jaw line. “I’m very open to any suggestions you may have.”

“Excellent,” Siberia murmurs, mouth curling into just the faintest hint of a smile. “For a start, I wonder if you take as good as you give.”

Siberia kisses Karelia and if her needy shiver is any indication, his future is going to be a _very_ interesting one. His last thought before they all orient to a pointedly Karelia-centric direction is that despite all expectations, the life still has its moments of perfect rightness.

* * *

 

Something is wrong.  Åland can feel it.

It’s something halfway between a buzz along his spine combined with a niggling weight familiar to anyone who has ever recalled leaving the iron on, and somehow even annoying than the two put together. Åland hadn’t _asked_ for a sixth sense potent enough to be noticeable, yet too weak to actually be useful.

But Åland has long since relegated his ire to the mental bin of “Things That Are Finland’s Fault”, and doesn’t bother dwelling on it. It’s more important to pinpoint the source of the aforementioned wrongness so he can deal with it and get on with his life.

That proves to be trickier than expected.

 Outside, rain drops steadily from the sky as Åland thinks things over. Finland had thrashed Sweden 3-0 in their most recent hockey match. He had finally straightened out the mailing mishap that had resulted in his receiving of _Modern Bride_ while his own _Bröllops Magasinet_ had ended up in California of all places. It had taken the better part of an afternoon, one headache, and several emails to one A. Brannan to clear things up. But Åland had been assured his magazine was “like, shipped out” and ready to be carefully hidden away. (His prepared excuse should said publication be discovered being ‘my boss is making me, tourism or something’). His coffee is still warm and nothing short of perfection. And-

Faroes shifts against him with a whisper of a sigh, sleep having left her body as fluidly relaxed as a cat’s. The recliner at his house is really not intended for two people unless they are _very_ at ease sharing personal space, a state of affairs Åland has no problems with concerning his ~~wife~~ girlfriend. Feeling as always the instinct to see to Faroes’ needs, Åland fusses with the blanket covering them both, and carefully pulls her coffee mug from lax fingers before it ends up spilling.

Not carefully enough, though. Deep blue eyes flutter open as Faroes drifts back to wakefulness. As she stretches, the collar of the too-large shirt she borrowed from him slides down in a way Åland finds incredibly absorbing.

“Sorry to wake you,” Åland says by way of an apology once he manages to tear his eyes away.

“You didn’t.” Faroes gives him one of those smiles that makes the world seem, however momentarily, completely perfect. “I always wake up for storms.”

As if on cue blazing lightning sears across the sky. Åland counts mentally and makes it to twenty three before thunder bellows like a mad beast. A bit of calculation and Åland relaxes-it’s more than six kilometers off and nothing to worry about. Even the rain pounding down now has a rhythmic, almost soothing quality to it.

“We’re a little short on mountains to hug here, unfortunately.”

Faroes huffs gently but her eyes are soft and fond. Somehow she manages to press closer to him, all velvety warmth and long legs and the scent of the sea mixed with just a touch of chocolate.

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Strong, elegant hands press against Åland’s chest, that simple touch searing through his shirt. Then Faroes kisses him, a tender sealing of lips that still makes his blood thrum like it’s their first. Åland could kiss her forever. He really could. “I know I can count on you for all my hugging needs.”

“I’ll do my best, princess,” Åland drawls even as some primitive part of his brain feels smugly satisfied.  But Faroes is eyeing him now bemusedly, and until her finger lightly brushes at the frown line between his brows (a legacy that is entirely Swedish in nature, much to his chagrin) he’s lost as to why.

“What’s this here?” Faroes asks, thumb smoothing away the worry crease like the tide washing away the sand. She pecks his forehead, lingering just a touch longer than could strictly be called chaste, and Åland doesn’t bother hiding his smile. “Ah, that’s better.”

It is. Really, Åland can’t imagine what even got him worked up in the first place. But it would take an infinitely stronger man than himself to remain stressed and on edge with a lap full of Faroes, golden hair spilling down to her waist and eyes shining with a love that takes his breath away every time. Åland doesn’t even try.

 _Teasing_ , however, is another story.

“And I suppose you’ll be wanting a reward for services rendered.”

“Some hugging would be a good start,” Faroes agrees cheekily. Her arms slide around his neck and that’s all that Åland needs to surge to his feet, lifting her up with no effort at all. “We can negotiate from there.”

“Seems fair.” Åland grins. “I call first proposal.”

“If you really need the advantage that badly,” Faroes says with a snort that soon falls into a happy hum when Åland lavishes attention to a particular spot where her neck and shoulder meet.

 Being a man who knows where his priorities lie, Åland really has much better things to consider at this point. His last concession towards that off feeling from earlier is that in his heart of hearts, it couldn’t be something he _really_ objected to. And as he nudges open the bedroom door, he is sure that will be the last he’ll ever have to worry about it.

 

* * *

[Human Skin](http://morriganfearn.livejournal.com/22153.html) (aka Siberia/Karelia fic of first cultural exchanging) as well as MF's [notes](http://morriganfearn.livejournal.com/22275.html) on Siberia and Karelia for the curious. Also, her [FF.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/564893/MorriganFearn) page seeing as most of her Hetalia stuff has not yet made it to Ao3. Her Åland/Faroes Trilogy Of True Love can also be found there! *pimps relentlessly*

Distance between South Karelia (where this is all happening) and Åland (where little brothers feel a great disturbance in the Force) roughly 450 kilometers or 280 miles.

The music I had in mind was Massive Attack's [Mezzanine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCwfUX58IZw), should you want to add an auditory element while reading. 

Karelia's lingerie of choice is Agent Provocateur's [Cordeliyah](http://s3-media4.ak.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/bNkfPmXIRjnd_NLXI3sHQA/l.jpg) [Corset](http://www.net-a-porter.com/us/en/product/325545?cm_mmc=ProductSearch-_-us-_-Corsetry-_-Cordeliyah&gclid=CPex0I_wyrsCFciIfgodQVoAJQ) (and matching thong!). Good stuff (and at $1500 for the corset alone, not cheap). I suspect she had a little tailoring work done on the cups. /bricked

  _Bröllops Magasinet_ is the Swedish language edition of a magazine found throughout Northern Europe and translated to "Wedding Magazine". (That Boy having amassed research materials for his dream wedding but not the stones to actually propose yet. Soon though! A. Brannan was also very relieved to have the mislaid Modern Bride returned because there was a "way fantastic beach weddings" bonus DVD included.)

 


End file.
